


To The Moon And Back, Remember ?

by sexystylinson



Series: burning [4]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Botton Louis, Dominant Harry, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Mpreg, Possessive Behavior, Possessive Harry, Pregnant Harry, Pregnant Louis, Protective Harry, Smut, Top Harry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-19
Updated: 2019-09-19
Packaged: 2020-10-24 06:44:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,923
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20701661
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sexystylinson/pseuds/sexystylinson
Summary: Written by SS98





	To The Moon And Back, Remember ?

**Author's Note:**

> written and perfected by fanfic writer SS98 i have no connection to the writing of this fanfic and all credit goes to SS98 for making such amazing fanfic .

Six Months (prior to proposal).

There’s been series of murders in this little town and every citizen who bothered about modern  
news was stricken. A suburban housewife was found with her wrists and feet chopped clean off in  
her backyard while her little boy hid in his treehouse. The police chief investigated to the bare  
minimum and issued a thoughtless statement to flag the demise of all intrigue. Two days later  
teenage twins were found on their way home from late afternoon classes in the same condition as  
the middle class mother. That seemed to be enough for a strict curfew to be imposed on all  
residents until a certain suspect is brought in.

Public facilities were shut down by seven in the evening and anyone caught outdoors by then  
would be taken into the station for questioning. Despite these precautionary measures, three more  
unconnected individuals were sliced through with an unidentified weapon and found by dawn on  
the curb. Nearly everyone was in a panic and found themselves triggered by the slightest rustle in  
their gardens or a single bark from their dogs at a window.

The killings have prompted nothing overly cautious in Harry except his promise to stay with Louis  
until the hype was irreversibly quietened by an arrest. He was either unbothered by the horrific  
serial murderer traipsing around their town or did not plan to take the entire ordeal very seriously.  
Louis could not read which it was when they sat in front of the television together watching King  
Kong (2005) and he strayed from the screen to study Harry’s side-profile.

“You’re not the killer, are you?” He blurted out softly, surprised by his own enquiry.  
Harry glanced at him out of the corner of his eye and curled the corner of his lip in a chuckle.  
“No, princess. I am not the killer.”

Louis sat up from his slouched hiding amongst fourteen cushions and crossed his legs so they  
weren’t draped over Harry’s lap anymore. “You sure?”

With a nonplussed sigh, Harry turned to Louis. He was dressed for bed as was Louis which meant  
he had on nothing besides boxers; Harry was at his most harmless when he could fall asleep at any  
moment. The bags under his eyes were usually difficult to spot even if he wore no cosmetics but  
after a shower and he let his mortality show, he was no more vulnerable than Louis.  
“Does it not satisfy you to know that I’d never hurt you?” Harry asks with a raised brow, his voice  
many times raspier from exhaustion.

“I knew it.” Louis collapses back into his nest of plush objects while Harry gets to his feet, prying  
the rings off his fingers to toss onto the chipped coffee table. “No one’s as good looking as you  
and not luring poor innocents out of safety.”  
Harry briefly glares at Louis in jest before walking away to set the alarm at Louis’ front door.  
“You should be in bed by the time I come back, Louis.”  
“I won’t.” Louis yawns in the middle of his response, barely reacting beyond a whine when Harry  
pats his behind encouragingly. “I’m sleeping here tonight.”

Upon Harry’s return he finds his boy fast asleep clutching a beaded unicorn plush toy from their  
first carnival visit together. He hates to indulge Louis and each time swears it will be the last time  
he does, doing so even now when he carries Louis and his silly stuffed toy away from the couch.  
“You’re not fooling anyone, princess.” Harry whispers in Louis’ ear when he’s nudging the  
bedroom door open.  
Louis reveals one eye open and screams when he’s tossed carelessly onto the bed. “You still fell  
for it though.”

“Sleep.” Harry orders when Louis rather scrambles over to the window and peeks through the  
blinds. He sighs at being ignored and crawls over to the boy, sitting at his back while Louis stares  
out at nothing. “Nothing’s gonna happen to you, baby.”  
“I’m sure the victims’ friends told them that too.”  
“Hey.” Harry frowns at hearing this and forcibly turns Louis away from the night, his expression  
set in a hard certainty. He pinches Louis’ chin between his thumb and forefinger, looking into  
those perfect blues and all the fear they housed. “You think I’m ever going to let anything happen  
to you?”

“No.” Louis feels nothing but confidence in saying that but he also knows Harry isn’t going to be  
with him at all hours of the day. He turns his head to the side in Harry’s grasp and his bottom lip  
juts out ahead of the upper one as Louis rests his cheek on Harry’s shoulder. “Don’t worry, I’ll  
protect you too.”

A small chortle is pressed to the back of Louis’ neck. “Thanks, baby.”  
It takes two weeks and a visit from out-of-town cops who were stationed in larger counties to find  
the killer. A toymaker who has had his store on the busiest street turned out to have a hidden  
storage room within his reputable one where over a dozen freezers sat laden with severed limbs.  
He was shipped off to the first town his criminal record listed for imprisonment but in a car wreck  
on the way there died from being trapped in a burning patrol car.

Everything went back to normal after that and the cemetery was busier than any mall for a few  
days but eventually their hometown returned to its equilibrium. Teenagers stayed out late once  
more and people weren’t so afraid to do their laundry if they worked late. The police station was  
once more stocking up on doughnuts and paperwork, considering the only crimes taking place  
was petty theft.

Harry was working once again six out of the seven days and no longer lived with Louis;  
dangerous waters had passed and his boy was no longer afraid. During his breaks between clients  
or just going to different floors for his next appointment Harry would call Louis for no  
decipherable reason. He couldn’t explain to himself why he needed to hear Louis’ quirkiness  
during the day to know his boy is safe still.

“I have a test in an hour.” The echo that trailed Louis’ speaking was indicative that he’d stolen  
away to the empty auditorium where he could be in peace. “I should be studying, Styles.”  
Harry offered meek waves to the people greeting him as he walked through the second floor. He  
was a little breathless and it slowed it speech but Louis found it endearing. “Bunking classes to  
study seems counterintuitive.”

Louis is not surprised to hear advanced vocabulary from a man who had the intelligence of an  
intellectual but chose to mask it like an underappreciated superpower. “Don’t be a party pooper,  
Styles.”

“Speaking of-”  
“Nope.” Louis swings his legs over the edge of the stage, grinning at his lap. He promised once to  
attend a party with Harry but never again.  
Harry sighs, aware earlier of the difficulty Louis could incite when he was stubborn. “Not even to  
celebrate the end of test season?”  
“Not even to celebrate a deferred alien attack.” Louis retorts. “As much of an honour it would be  
to be Harry Styles’ date, it gets kinda old.”

A hoarse bout of laughter rings through his earpiece and even still prompts the hairs on Louis’  
nape to stand on end. Harry’s laugh is one of the few genuine sounds left that not many get to see  
from him. He’d smile or bite his lip to suppress some amusement in public surrounded by  
strangers or even the people he slept with, but those times he’d listen to Louis’ script for a drama  
project or fail at teaching Louis to box his laughter is unadulterated, unrestrained magic.  
Sometimes his eyes would water from it and Louis felt like a King at those moments.  
“I’ll tell you a secret if you let me extort this date out of you.” Harry lowers his voice to not be  
heard by passing people.

Louis snorts, shuffling papers on his lap. “I already know you’re in love with me, Styles.”  
“Did you find out because of the ring in my coat pocket?”  
“Don’t play with my heart like that, H.” Louis stops his search for a worksheet and hugs his knees  
to his chest. “You gonna ask someone else to the stupid party if I keep saying no?”  
He plans to attend the party but just not as Harry’s companion. It’s being hosted by one of the few  
hospitable friends of Harry’s that Louis can tolerate, Ed, and it’s in honour of the man’s birthday.  
Louis has to pick Harry’s gift up after school and go home to get dressed before Ed comes to fetch  
him. Strangely enough, Louis is part of the surprise along with the sparkly birthday banner, pink  
frosting cake and plastic king’s crown.

“Yes.” Harry replies after a silent heartbeat.  
Louis whistles a catcall; he does so because it’s less obvious than a frustrated scream. “Do I know  
‘em?”

“You know you’re the only one I’d date. Don’t be cruel, princess.”  
“I’m so tired, H.” Louis sighs, drumming his fingers against the side of his thigh. “I’ll think about  
it, okay?”

The ambiguous response is hardly satisfactory and Harry pinches the bridge of his nose, shoving  
open a heavy glass door to enter the appointment room. “I want an answer by the time I come to  
fetch you later.”

After they bid adieu to one another Louis rushes to gather his belongings while simultaneously  
calling Ed with the latest developments. Always a few steps ahead, Ed reassures Louis that Harry  
will not know about their plan until the right moment of revelation.  
Louis’ test goes off without the trial of doubting answers and he packs up to leave by his locker  
while others file out the main entrance. He reads a text from Ed saying that Harry is with him  
rather than waiting for Louis on his way to catch a bus to the business district. If Louis considers  
himself skilled at anything without humility it’s that he always knows the perfect gift for someone  
and after knowing Harry for little under a year he’s confident that the most ideal one has been  
chosen.

The store he runs into is manned by a startled youngster who offers a red-faced Louis water before  
the latter’s departure but Louis is in too much of a hurry for courtesy. He checks the receipt and  
boxed gift, handing over all the money he’s set aside in an empty pickle’s jar for Harry’s birthday.  
To his credit, five cents were in excess. During his sprint back to the bus stop Louis gets a call  
from Harry that he only answers when the bus doors slide shut and most of his anxiety subsides.  
He reassures Harry that he is home safe and listens to countless aggravated apologies on his trek  
up the driveway. Before Harry can ask about his decision on the party the call is cut by someone  
else intervening on the man’s side and Louis winces at the unthinkable punishment they’d  
undergo for doing so. Wrapping Harry’s gift is far more enjoyable when Louis is using yellow  
wrapping paper with tiny tiaras on it and shakes out the tremors in his hand before scribbling as  
polite a note as he can to accompany the present.

‘Because my kisses can’t heal everything, Styles. Happy Birthday! - Princess’  
By the time Louis finishes his shower during which the water ran cold because he forgot to turn  
on the geyser, he has twelve minutes to be ready for Ed’s arrival. He sneezes thrice when dressing  
in all black and has to smack his hairdryer a few times for it to kick up after dying. The only that  
catches one’s eye about his outfit is the obscene silver plastic princess tiara he carries – it’s a  
symbol, Ed promised him – to wear in his still damp hair.

Ed offers him a tissue when Louis’ nose turns bright red on the drive to his house and then Advil  
when they arrive. Louis is kept from the living room because Harry is in there still an oblivious  
fool. He takes a pair of pills to end his headache and goes about preparing a cup of tea now that  
he’s unsupervised so soothe the chill that’s settled in his bones. Not wearing a jacket was the  
product of hurrying and Louis regrets not being more timeous.

His gift is taken to the lot of others while Louis hides out with his mug of steaming herbal tea; he  
hates Ed for not having any other kind. For a few minutes he is by himself and his childish plastic  
tiara, playing with it and its flimsy structure until one fake diamond falls off and he decides to set it  
aside. The tea does enough to stop an itch in his throat and warms his chest so Louis calls it a  
success.

While washing the cup he’s used – he plans to abandon the dishes he uses later so for now he’ll be  
a neat guest – Louis is offered a fright by someone sneaking up behind him. He screams and the  
cup clatters unharmed into the sink but his hip does not so simply recover from colliding with the  
countertop.

Whoever it is needs no self-proclamation. Heavy arms encircle Louis’ waist and lock securely in  
their position, a wall of muscle in the form of a human chest meets his back and Louis knows only  
one person who would be bold enough to kiss the same spot on his neck every time. Harry’s scent  
is marred by cigarette smoke but Louis can wait for it to waver so he may lean back for the  
signature blend of subtle aftershave and treetops.

“You really suck at doing as you’re told, Styles.” Louis jokingly remarks, pressing the cold tip of  
his nose to Harry’s pulse.  
Harry returns the gesture by flipping Louis’ position so the boy’s back met the counter instead. He  
was smirking almost evilly down at Louis, his arm outstretched to the cabinet above Louis’ head.  
What drew from his looming figure was the crown fit for a king planted on his head and Louis  
giggled at seeing it a little tilted.

“Happy birthday.” Louis stretched up to peck both Harry’s cheeks and his lips. “You old enough  
to be my grandpa yet?”

“Thank you, baby.” Harry discreetly slipped his palms into Louis’ back pockets and jerkily tugged  
him forward, their front aligned. He leaned forward at the complaint of his lower back to kiss  
Louis more to his liking, licking into the boy’s mouth with uncensored moan.  
Someone else barged into the kitchen in search of the birthday boy and groaned miserably at the  
reality that their surprise is shot to Hell. It’s Ed’s brother, Derek, who drove down from the city to  
help out with the party preparation and he had much less patience than his sibling. “Oh fuck,  
Styles. Can’t you do what you’re told?”

Louis laughs against Harry’s swollen lips and withdraws reluctantly to take in the intruder. He’s  
shocked by the purple bruise around Derek’s left eye. “Christ. What happened to you?”  
“Styles doesn’t like having his phone nabbed.” Derek glowered while Harry explained his  
reaction with the most disinterested shrug he could muster.

The birthday party is successful even if the surprise element was smothered. Altogether there were  
lots of unfamiliar faces for Louis but Harry seemed to know most of them and as the night drew  
on, Louis felt his cold return with a vengeance. He stayed away from alcohol and drank two more  
cups of tea because no amount of willpower could keep the pounding in his skull at bay. Harry  
kept him near always until Louis absolutely could not stand the loud music and had to step away  
from it all.

Louis was there when they brought out the outrageous two-tier cake; Harry made a rule of no  
photographs and Louis is silently grateful because any flashes might send him into a frenzy. He  
temporarily departs to wash the same cup for the fourth time, swearing like the three occasions  
before that this would be the last time, and is halted midway because of a terrible commotion.  
An object crashes thunderously in the living room and shouting ensues shortly after. Leaving the  
sink in a rush Louis makes it into the lounge in time to see what he’d just begun to surpass as a  
fear. Harry was the one to cause the destruction of Ed’s media centre by shoving an unidentified  
other into it, the same stranger who he had under him now and at the ruthless mercy of his fists.  
They pummelled into his opposition’s face until most looked away because of a crimson splatter  
across his shirt.

Louis doesn’t think when he throws himself into the traumatic mix. He shoves through several  
hypnotised bodies and fails to think of a tactic when all that burdens him is the broken jaw of  
Harry’s victim. Draping himself over Harry’s back, Louis wraps his arms around the man’s neck  
and tries desperately to pull him off. Harry truly is immovable when he’s driven by less dignified  
motivation; it’s like trying to stop a mountain’s shift.

“Stop it, Harry!” Shouting does nothing even when Ed tries to intervene. There’s a look in  
Harry’s eye that only surfaces in violence and it scares Louis but so long has it not made an  
appearance that he almost thought it to be entirely warded off. Louis digs his nails into Harry’s  
chest and speaks lowly in his ear. “Let’s go home, Harry. Please. Let’s go home.”

Everyone was in abominable shock when Louis led Harry between them and out through the  
kitchen doorway. He couldn’t stop the shaking in his hands or legs because something in his core  
had been uprooted, and it still trembled. Seeing the blood spray from deep gashes or the hearing  
the sickening crunch from a shattered collarbone and broken jaw was not something anyone is  
going to forget soon. This is what Louis never slip about Harry but sadly everyone else did.  
Recently he’s been as outwardly pleasant as any healthy social personality would be but under it  
all raged a darkness that everyone forgot could re-emerge at will.

Nobody would tell Louis why the fight started and he knew the hospitalised boy would never tell  
him so he braved the opportunity to ask Harry. They were both home due to it being a Sunday  
and Louis had just finished up a project while Harry worked in the garage on his van.  
“Hey.” Louis strolled into the opened garage attached to his house and found Harry bent over the  
hood, fidgeting with things he could not begin to comprehend.

Harry was a frightening one sometimes though Louis never felt threatened. The morning after the  
entire bloody debacle he was back to normal yet acknowledged the fight as a thing of the past. He  
stopped now to greet Louis with a kiss the latter was not expecting. “Princess.”  
Louis left his lips frozen for a second before recovering. “You didn’t tell me something was  
wrong with your ride.”

“Nothing is wrong.” Harry’s blackened fingers were wiped across his vest after being grazed by  
something too hot. “I’m changing the oil and replacing the drive belt.”  
“Sure, sure.” Louis pulled himself up onto the barren surface of Harry’s fire-truck red tool cabinet  
that’s the result of a pawn shop purchase and second hand tools. It lives in Louis’ garage now and  
because of that, had panda stickers creeping up the sides.

The cabinet incidentally has wheels and starts rolling under Louis’ added weight. Harry grabs the  
side bar before it slams into the wall and gives his boy stitches, snapping the stoppers into place so  
it won’t move. “Any particular reason you’re out here, baby?”  
Louis feigns offence, crossing his legs on the cabinet’s top. “You get to be clingy but I can’t?  
Rude, Styles.”

Harry sets his tools down and comes to Louis in one stride. His arms and cheek are stained with  
grease, his thin vest straining against his torso when the man leans forward with his hands pressed  
to the cabinet’s opposite handles. Louis finds Harry’s face an inch from his and twists the fabric of  
his sleeves.  
“I know my boy and I know now that you have an agenda.” Harry squeezes Louis’ hip, the  
intensity of his stare burning holes into Louis’ skin. “You want to know about the party, don’t  
you?”

Louis has he grace to look vaguely guilty. He feels Harry’s lips on his forehead and releases a  
shuddery breath. “What did he say to you?”  
Harry meets Louis’ eye with a heated gaze that’s laced with the formidable intensity of rage. It’s a  
poison that turns Harry’s warm green, golden flecked orbs to harbours of misery. Louis’ not met a  
soul who could experience emotions as fervently as Harry did – an extreme case of empathy that  
in violence’s case became his downfall. He feels cowardly turning his attention to his lap where  
the infliction of Harry’s unwavering focus is not so severe. When Louis begins to think Harry  
never plans to answer him, he is struck dumb by painful honesty.

“He thought you were a hired whore. Asked me where he could get one for himself.” Harry  
pushes off the cabinet so abruptly that it sends the object jolting backward with the boy perched  
atop it as well.

Louis swallows thickly, no words on his tongue. All the comebacks he armed himself with daily  
seemed to tie before his lips and something internal deflated with his mood. Someone thought he  
was a prostitute? While Louis rarely allowed an offence to wound him there were some that  
sneaked around his defences. What about him was so cheap that night?

“Princess.” Harry snaps Louis out of his mental struggle, dropping the item in his hand and goes  
back to his companion with solace. He kissed Louis and encircled the boy’s waist without a care  
for staining his clothing. Louis took a beat before reacting to the kiss, leaning upward with a soft  
sound at the back of his throat. “You’re my boy and no fucker’s ever going to insult my boy.”  
“But he did.” Louis meets his gaze easily and in his own eyes was sadness, the image of someone  
whose self-esteem has been prodded at.

Harry uncrosses Louis’ legs so they can wrap around his waist instead, tilting the latter’s head  
back to monitor the disheartened embers’ retreat. “And he got taught his lesson, baby. You are not  
allowed to be hurt by this.”

Louis’ shoulders sag in defeat and he knows Harry is watching him this fixedly for a reason. “I’m  
not hurt. My honour got defended by the famous Harry Styles, how could I be sad about that?”  
“Princess, it’s not about that.” Harry distractedly brushes his thumbs over Louis’ hipbones where  
the boy is distressingly slender enough to have slight hints of the rounded bone protrude through  
his skin. “I’ve always got you. You need to know that the bastard’s comment is meaningless.”  
“I know.” And Louis feels no self-doubt when he smiles after saying it. The opinion of an  
absolute barbaric stranger should never have had an effect on his thought process for even an  
instant. “Thanks, Styles.”

Harry helps Louis off the cabinet when they boy starts to fidget and smirks, a dimple showing in  
his left cheek when he carelessly pinches Louis’ behind during the latter’s departure. “Are you  
grateful enough to bring me a beer?”

Louis doesn’t miss a beat. “I don’t have beer and I ain’t your wife.”  
Harry only got to open his presents three days after the nasty occurrence; no charges were filed  
against him in that period and Ed swung by with all the forgotten presents when Harry was at  
Louis’ house. At first they’re seen as impositions because the pleasantly wrapped objects render  
bitter-sweet memories, but Louis walks out of his shower and convinces Harry that it could be  
ideal to sit with hot cups of cocoa and open up presents.

“Stop looking so glum.” Louis leaves his own gift hidden behind him and passes Harry one box at  
a time, gently kicking the brooding man’s knee.

Most of the gifts comprised of hilarious printed vacation shirts that are so far from Harry’s  
conventional style that they each made Louis laugh in wild derision. He even puts one on that  
flows down to his thighs with flamingos and playfully shimmies animatedly in it until Harry’s  
mood lightens. The man can only resist Louis’ juvenile behaviour for so long before he caves and  
gives in to kindred laughter. When Louis walks by him, Harry grabs hold of the boy’s hips and  
plants a kiss squarely on each side of his behind.

It eventually comes down to what Louis bought for him and he’s all measures of nervous when  
Harry reads the kitten label. Without looking away Harry raises his eyebrow and begins the  
torturous process of neatly unwrapping the box to draw out the horror of anticipation. He flicks off  
every tape piece and unfolds the edges of wrapping paper with delicate ease until he’s bombarded  
with the gift giver climbing onto his lap and completing the unwrapping process for him.  
“I was going to savour it because not every day do I earn a gift from my princess.” Harry muses,  
looking at the ominous brown box that’s one up in size from a shoebox.

Louis rolls his eyes and listens to his own heart thump against the inside of his ribcage. “If you  
hate it just pretend to love it, will you?”  
Harry reacts to the jet black boxing gloves with an embroidered eagle on each hand with  
unmistakeable awe. He doesn’t have to size them on to know they’re a perfect fit and turns over  
the gloves to find HS sewn into the wrist on the right one. Louis is looking at him with such  
uncertainty, chewing on his bottom lip and altogether fidgety.

“Oh my God, you hate it.” Louis observes Harry’s stoic expression and takes back his thoughtful  
purchase. He fails in trying not to squeal when he’s tackled to the floor and his flailing limbs are  
pinned to the shaggy carpet.

“This is mine now, princess, just like you are.” Harry bites Louis’ bottom lip and tugs gently so he  
gets to hear his boy’s soft mewl. “I don’t think anyone’s gonna risk their vein by trying to take  
either of those things from me.”

* * * * *

Present.

Louis picked up his diploma on an ominous, chilly Thursday and visited an internet café at their  
town’s only major mall to email the credentials to his university. They’d alter his offer from  
conditional to firm and within the coming week he’d receive his first package of assignments.  
Harry’s working all day until five in the afternoon in the independent gym just across the street  
from the mall Louis’ in, which is one of the reasons he was allowed to go about his business by  
his lonesome.

During his wait for a toasted sandwich and bottled water in a perfectly located breakfast-only food  
joint, Louis thinks about if he’s at all in the mood to prepare dinner. While he ate, he took the  
escalator up to the level where Harry’s gym is easy to access from the parking lot, and happened  
by a baby store. It draws him in instantly; before he can comprehend the effect of time Louis is  
perusing the isles and humming to himself during a thorough inspection of a massive fetus  
development collage.

In Louis’ pocket, his phone vibrates and he winces at the sight of his digital clock. Furthermore,  
the person calling has to be much unlike their caller identification picture. “Hey, baby daddy.”  
“Princess.” Louis can tell by Harry’s exasperated sigh that he’s conflicted in his own anger. “You  
said twenty minutes.”

“I said an hour, Styles. You said twenty minutes.” Louis quips. He’s brushing his fingers over the  
most delicate fabric a person could ever invent, all snipped and sewn into adorable baby attire.  
“No matter, baby. Get back here right now.”

Louis keeps his voice low in spite of his vociferous pleading, momentarily distracted by a woman  
walking by that’s plenty weeks ahead of him. “But your gym is boring and I found a baby store,  
Harry. Everything is so cute.”

A breath is cut off with Harry’s overzealous protective measures. The thought of buying the  
essentials for their baby made something in him feel lighter, eager. “I’m sure everything is, baby.  
Do me a favour and come back, alright? When I’m done working we can go over together.”  
“Alright.” Louis relents with pursed lips. “If this onesie gets sold before we get back, it’s on you.”  
Watching Harry work for the next few hours felt more tedious than possibly any other tiresome  
obligation, and Louis makes certain it shows on his face. However not even he can resist when the  
last client cancels and Harry fights in the ring with another trainer for a fraction of that time. Louis  
would be silly and painfully ignorant if he didn’t appreciate Harry’s body in all its gladiatorial  
muscular glory. People tended to become slow as they grew heavier up top but Harry had swift  
footing even so.

He didn’t notice until enough jabs were made to Harry’s opponent’s jaw and it was impossible to  
ignore; Harry was using the gloves Louis got him for his birthday. It brought heat crawling up his  
neck and undoubtedly turned his cheeks a shy pink. Those gloves looked faintly worn but Harry  
has obviously been maintaining them because they still served their purpose well.

Harry gets out of the ring after saying something to the other occupant and comes to Louis first  
where the boy is fidgeting with a single dumbbell of one kilogram. Louis hands him the towel he  
was in charge of and stands with a stretch. “I know workouts are supposed to be fun but I  
honestly think it’s the same stuff done in different sequences.”

“That’s exactly what it is, baby.” Harry chuckles, stripping off his shirt ahead of the showers and  
wiping away the sweat sheen from his skin. “People are willing to pay so who am I to deny  
them?”

Louis can’t smother his grin at that comment, walking into the abandoned locker rooms designated  
for employees only. He stopped feeling like a rebel when everyone who ever used these showers  
came to know who he was. Harry takes out the inexplicably massive gym bag out from his slot  
and dumps it on the bench, winking at Louis when the latter glares pointedly at him. They both  
recall his comment about being able to fit Louis into the bag with a little cooperation.  
“Go shower, Styles.” Louis holds his hand out when Harry steps over the bench in one stride, his  
arm slipping around Louis’ waist. Soft blue ignites emerald when they connect. “You’re not going  
to kiss me when you’re all sweaty.”

Harry is shameless in palming Louis’ behind and moaning when their lips meet. He concentrates  
on the union with a slight frown on his brow that has gone without notice until recently. Louis  
blushed every time he thought about Harry focusing on their silly teenage necking so intently.  
“Would an offer to shower with me go rejected?” Harry asks breathily, brushing the pad of his  
thumb over Louis’ bottom lip. He smiled at the other’s keenness under his hands.

Louis whimpers when the room starts to spin, one of the many times it’s happened as promised by  
the only pregnancy book they bothered to buy. He waited for it to pass by leaning entirely on  
Harry and closing his eyes, experiencing yet another pang of nausea.

To accompany the wonderful symptoms are others that made his appetite as broad as that of a  
hippo and turned his snoring into a champion’s trumpet. Harry once left the bedroom during the  
night because of how loud Louis’ snoring was and they had an argument about it the next  
morning before Louis went out and bought a small humidifier in the shape of a pink hippo. Harry  
loathed the thing and said it made the air too thick to breathe, so he slept on the couch for a few  
nights while Louis ignored him.

“The steam might help with this nose of yours, old boy.” Harry gently flicks the tip of Louis’ nose  
with his index, laughing at the scowl that was returned. “You know I hate sleeping away from my  
bed.”

“Jerk.” Louis stuck his tongue out at his partner. “I hope you fall off the stupid couch tonight.”  
“Sorry, princess.” Harry poorly refrains his laughter, rubbing his palm across the expanse of  
Louis’ taut belly under his shirt. It was always warm and Harry’s favourite place to rest his ear as  
if anything could be heard from his unborn child. “I’ve got you all sweaty too now, I believe.  
Showering with me is no longer a choice.”

Louis knew there would be a quick but futile argument before he gladly got under the shower’s  
assaulting spray with Harry. It’s another thing they argued about – the temperature at which the  
water should be when they’re sharing – and while Louis thought his selection is suitable for them  
both, Harry pointed out that it was akin to showering with molten rock instead of water. It’s  
another aspect that was turned around unexpectedly on them during this pregnancy.

Harry went through the works, shampooing his hair and rinsing it out even if he knew it’ll have to  
dry naturally without the aid of a hairdryer. Louis squeaked when Harry reached for him below  
his waist, and jumped back only to be roped in again. “We are not having sex here, Harry.”  
“I know, princess.” Harry smiled gratefully when Louis wiped the soap suds away before they  
could reach his eyes, and drew Louis further into the water.

“It’s freezing!” Louis exclaims, squirming out of Harry’s arms. His teeth start to chatter even,  
before Harry turns the hot water dial all the way up. “Should I expect your skin to start melting  
off?”

“Maybe it will.” Harry’s exterior was turning bright pink, pale skin morphing into flushed red but  
he failed to react. He nudged Louis’ cheek with his nose. “Will you miss me if my skin melts off?”  
Louis turns his head into Harry’s neck with a deep inhale. “You miss me and I’ll miss you,  
Styles.”

They make it to the baby store an hour before closing and Louis gets to purchase the little green  
onesie he yearned for; it came with a matching beanie that made him coo out loud. The single  
outfit is all they had cash on them for so Harry let Louis indulge in fantasy for a few minutes  
before ushering him out of the mall, trying to keep his own self-hatred at bay. He should be able to  
provide for both Louis and the baby whenever they asked for something of necessity. The fact that  
he’d merely left his wallet and all pertinent cards at home today didn’t dawn well on Harry.

Louis takes a photo of the newest buy before tucking it back into its bag and the closet. When the  
Polaroid produces an image, he writes in his neat scrawl ‘Baby’s first.’

**Author's Note:**

> the end of another amazing fanfic by SS98


End file.
